by Unknown
Good heavens, am I the only one who can see the aura of evil doing around this man? thought Virginie, trying to seem detached and unaffected by the blackguard. Perhaps not. Salam also seemed on the defensive and was gauging the gentleman who stared at Virginie as if he wanted to suck up her soul. All the while Kalaan’s face showed his irritation.
In fact, Kalaan was upset because he was convinced Darius knew Virginie, and perhaps in an intimate manner. Could they be lovers? They were both acting very strange; Virginie was petrified and Darius’ eyes never left her, as if he was sending a silent message that she understood perfectly.
The young count was overcome with jealousy and his hand, which before held the young woman’s arm in a protective manner, squeezed her to point where she jumped in pain. She looked at him with surprise in her eyes. Could she see his anger at that moment? Or rather Catherine’s?
No, Kalaan was actually the last thing on Virginie’s mind. She was fighting her own demons and could feel fear taking its hold on her. She was terrified that Darius found her hiding place and that he had dared come to her when she was with friends. She had taken all the necessary measures to prevent it. The only person who knew where to find her was the detective she’d hired to investigate her father’s death. Could the old mercenary have betrayed her? Did he tell Darius everything in exchange for better pay? It could explain why she never heard from him. Another wave of dizziness came over Virginie, but this time she resisted, finding the strength to stand straight and unflinching.
Dinner was served and Amélie, leading the way to the dining room, invited her guests to take place at the table. Everyone followed listening to the Duchess Delatour, who was apparently the only person with the right to talk.
At the entrance to the dining room a large dog, with gray and white fur and pointed ears appeared. He growled showing his fangs as the guests walked by. When the old woman in the candy pink dress passed he got on his hind legs put his paws on her shoulder and began to nibble her neck.
“Oh! You bad boy!” she tittered, “Be good now!”
Kalaan didn’t wait long to act. He jumped on the beast, grabbed him by the throat and threw him to the ground, holding him there.
“Is she insane?” The duchess screamed in shock and indignation. “Don’t touch my dog, you stupid girl!”
Kalaan, kneeling in his skirts, paid no heed to the old bat. He was waiting for a sign of submission from the dog before releasing him. Submission came soon enough. The dog stopped growling aggressively and began yelping, licking his chops and even himself.
“Good boy, gently now,” Kalaan’s voice was quiet and reassuring as he slowly released his hold and began to pet the animal. The following minute the dog rolled over onto his belly and crawled to Kalaan’s feet, whimpering like a puppy.
“What have you done?” The duchess was tapping Catherine on the shoulder with a napkin she’d taken from the table.
“If you don’t want to suffer the same treatment as that beast, I suggest you never hit me again,” Kalaan spoke as he stood up very tall and held himself over the harpy, who, shrank away.
“Do you know what that animal is?” he asked, pointing at the ball of fur.
“It is my dog! A gift from my eldest son on his return from Siberia.”
“No. The dog is a husky, and their behavior is similar to that of a wolf. The Chukchis[57], a people who have lived with these animals since at least two thousand BC, have a legend. They say that these dogs were born from a love between a wolf and the moon. This one is a male, and a very young one, at that. He is trying to find his place here. As with a wolf, when he was biting your neck, ‘twas not a game but a demonstration of strength and domination. He wants to be the alpha.”
“The alpha?”
“The master,” Kalaan replied in his crystalline voice, sighing at so much stupidity.
“Was it necessary to brutalize this… this susky?”
“Husky... and no, I did not brutalize him. I only showed him who the leader was here.”
To prove what he said, Kalaan snapped his fingers and told the husky to sit, which he did immediately with a yap before licking Kalaan’s hand, his pale blue eyes looking deeply into the amber-green eyes of the count.
“Kal… Catherine!” Amélie caught herself just in time. “Let us all be seated, my child.”
After her brief intervention, Amélie gave her son a discreet nod of approval and then returned to her detached attitude presiding over the dinner table. The meal was an ordeal for everyone except the duchess who spoke and ate at the same time. She was only pleasant to those who had arrived with her, and somewhat, with Amélie. All the others were treated with the same disdain. Catherine was the only exception to this attitude. The duchess ignored her completely, perhaps for fear of being thrown to the floor and held there until she peed on herself like the husky, who, by the way, was now lying happily and peacefully at Catherine’s feet.
The time for dessert was approaching and what was probably morbid curiosity incited the duchess to turn to Salam.
“You sir, the pagan, have you ever had to face the man-eating beetles? From what I understand, they are horrible! The bugs dig under the skin and make their way up to the brain to eat it, while the person is still alive!”
If only they could have eaten this nuisance’s brain and her tongue while they were at it, thought Salam, who remained stoic. Smiling calmly, he waited until she was stuffing her face with cake to reply.
“They are the sacred dung beetles, Your Grace. They only eat fibers, which they then eliminate as excrement. They roll the excrement into little balls in which they lay their eggs.”
It gave Salam great pleasure when the duchess almost choked on the food in her mouth, that is to say half of a serving of cake. The cream was dripping down her chin.
Kalaan laughed out loud banging his fist on the table and the grandson seminarian couldn’t help but do the same, though more discreetly. Isabelle appreciated seeing this side of him winked at him making him blush like a virgin. However, when Salam noticed this, his face darkened.
Virginie wished she could participate in the good humor, but Darius’ heavy unrelenting eyes petrified her. She desperately wished she could escape from this room, run to pack her trunks and leave, go as far away as possible. But where could she go?
After a long silence Amélie wanted to restore the good atmosphere, so she asked the question that had been on her mind ever since the guest’s unexpected arrival.
“I am happy you finally decided to visit us here on Croz, but why in the middle of winter?”
“Oh my dear, a horrible affair! Terrible things are happening in Paris and I was so frightened that I could only think of one thing, to come join you here! Even if this region exasperates me because it is sad and humid at least with the sea around us I feel a little safer.”
Kalaan would show her if his country was sad and humid! He would drown her or turn into boued[58] for the lobster crates! Before he could actually do anything, the duchess returned to her theatrical monologue.
“Do you know, heaven have pity on me, but the police found the remains of a dismembered man in the Seine, just across from my beautiful home! The Chief of Police, the famous Monsieur Vidocq[59], came to see for himself and requested permission to question my personnel about it.”
“Vidocq went out for a simple homicide?” Kalaan interrupted her, much to the surprise of both the duchess and Darius Borgas, who narrowed his eyes and began to scrutinize him.
Blast it! Catherine shouldn’t talk like Kalaan would. But the damage was done and Borgas, whom he’d seen from afar on several occasions in Paris, and didn’t much like because he suspected him of dishonesty, could not possibly recognize him in the features of the ‘thing.’ Also, it is quite plausible that, Catherine would know who Vidocq was. After all, the man was a living legend.
“Apparently the man, who was horribly chopped up, was one of his friends. He knew so, because the arm they fished out of the ri
ver had a unique tattoo. Oh! I cannot remember the name of the dead man. Probably the shock of seeing that at my door... don’t you think…? But what was the name he told me?”
“Georges Maltinard,” Darius Borgas’ gloomy voice reminded her. It was the first time he spoke since his arrival on the isle. He then looked back into Virginie’s eyes with the cold eyes of a killer.
The psychological shock of the constant silent menace was so brutally intense, that a dark veil clouded the young woman’s vision and she fell, unconscious into a bottomless pit.
Chapter 15
Close surveillance
Virginie whimpered in her sleep. Pain was boring into her skull, keeping her from coming back to reality. The throbbing in her temples spread all the way to her ears, making them ring. That is not what woke her up, however. No, what woke her was the feeling of a soft damp cloth being placed on her forehead.
Where was she? Gradually Virginie became aware of the weight of a sheet and blanket on her body and the firmness of a mattress under her and she realized she was in a bed. Her eyelids began to flutter and as she slowly opened her eyes she could barely make out an imposing silhouette sitting on the bed next to her. The light from the fireplace behind gave the impression of a shadow puppet. She could not see who it was, but she knew it wasn’t a woman, for the contours were definitely masculine. Darius!
The shameful name was the first to come to Virginie’s mind and she reacted purely on instinct. Jumping back against her pillow, she pulled her knees up to her chest and cried out in fear.
“This is the second time I’ve frightened you.” The deep voice sounded amused. “Yesterday you threatened me with a glass. What will your weapon of choice be tonight, your nightdress? Not that I would mind.”
Virginie was still shaking with fright, but little by little she started relaxing. The voice’s unique baritone timbre could only belong to one man — Kalaan.
“What… where am I?”
“In your room.”
“And you?”
“It would seem I am too!” Kalaan laughed and put the cloth he’d used on her face back in the porcelain bowl full of cold water.
She sighed rubbing her temples, then closed her eyes and counted to ten before speaking. Virginie needed to gather her thoughts before talking to this brash young man. Meanwhile, remembering the scar on his palm, Kalaan took advantage of her closed eyes to put his black leather gloves on.
“You hit your head sliding off your chair at dinner,” he told her, his tone slightly more serious this time. When she opened her eyes again, he held a glass under her nose before continuing. “You have been unconscious since the accident, until just now and it is two o’clock in the morning.”
“What is this?” Virginie looked suspiciously at the contents of the glass Kalaan had in his hand.
“It isn’t cognac. Don’t get your hopes up, my sweet.” Kalaan, an undisciplined brown lock falling across his forehead was enjoying himself. His sensuous lips curled up into a magnificent smile.
Virginie, captivated by his humor, returned his smile as she pulled the sheet up across her chest, which luckily was already covered by her nightgown. Her hand trembled as she took the glass.
“’Tis but a sedative, prepared by our druid, Jaouen. It is he who took care of you after your fall. You gave everyone such a fright!”
“Oh… I am so sorry.” her soft voice was almost a whisper. She tasted the bitter concoction with some reluctance and made a face.
“It has poppy seeds in it, just enough to curb the pain, which may make you sleepy. You have a pretty bump on her forehead,” he said teasing her.
Virginie forced herself to drain the glass then gingerly felt the bump on her head, near her hairline.
“Ouch!”
“For goodness sake! Don’t touch it! You also likely have a concussion! Women! I tell you!”
Now that she was completely conscious and had collected her thoughts, Virginie realized that the count was sitting much too close to her on the bed. He was as attractive as ever in his dark cloths and white ruffle shirt and his shoulder-length hair flowing free. In the presence of so much charisma, the young woman felt deep turmoil and her heart began to pound.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, sitting up straight and looking around the room, realizing that they really were alone.
“I’m watching over you.”
“But, a man alone with a woman in her room, well, it is simply not done! Gwendoline could have taken care of me!”
Kalaan sighed in feigned sadness, lit a candle on the bedside table and brought a gloved hand to his heart, his amber-green eyes sparkling with humor.
“I devote myself to you, body and soul, and this is how you thank me? How ungrateful of you! Joking aside however, undesirables have invaded our home. I am of course referring to the Duchess Delatour and her servants. As a result, your chambermaid and much of our personnel have had to move back to the village. As for your reputation, have no fear; it is safe… at least for tonight,” Kalaan added, pleased to see her blush at his innuendo. “Isabelle has just gone to request light refreshment. We’ve been relaying each other at your bedside.”
“And Monsieur Borgas?” Virginie asked, holding her breath after the words escaped her.
Kalaan’s face froze and his expression darkened. A muscle in his jaw twitched and he opened and closed his fists before standing up and turning away.
“He is lodged at the inn and the seminarian grandson is staying at the presbytery. Why? Does it matter to you?”
“No, not in the least!” Virginie flinched. She didn’t understand the count’s sudden mood change.
“Have you known this Borgas person, long?” he asked, grumbling. His baritone voice had turned harsh losing all trace of sensuality.
“Just over a year… we were introduced a few months before my father passed away.” Virginie replied, nervously playing with the embroidery on her sheet.
She remembered a dance; Darius was there, his behavior not worthy of a gentleman, and her father, Josephe de Macy, had protected her from the man’s shameless advances. Afterwards, he had come to their home in Paris on several occasions, until the day he and her father had that huge argument in her father’s study.
Josephe died in the early hours of the morning following the quarrel. He suffered from convulsions and abdominal cramps, made worse by nausea and vomiting. He suffered terribly, and before dying he’d fallen into a sort of delirium, incoherently babbling about Darius and a guild.
The family doctor was at his bedside the entire time and only an hour after his arrival said he was certain it was a poison. But when Josephe started talking about Darius and the guild, he suddenly changed his attitude. In the early morning, before his precipitated departure, his opinion had changed and on the death certificate he wrote: “Cause of death – heart attack.”
It was then that Virginie became convinced her father had been murdered by Darius and contacted Georges Maltinard. A few months earlier her father gave her the address,“If ever something serious happens to me, contact this man. He is absolutely trustworthy and will know how to help you.”
“Are you lovers?”
Kalaan’s tone sounded aggressive which startled Virginie out of her painful memories. Thinking she’d misunderstood, she asked, in a frightened whisper,
“I beg your pardon?”
“Are you having an affair with that man?” Kalaan asked again, but this time turning around to look her in the eyes.
The question was impertinent and it triggered feelings of both anger and horror in Virginie, and she started shaking from head to toe.
“How dare you?” She sat up straight, ignoring the pain that bore further into her skull with each angry word. “What right do you have to ask me such a thing? You have no idea who Darius Borgas is, nor what he is capable of! He… he’s…”
Kalaan’s attitude changed at once from probing to attentive and his face started to relax slowly.
“He frightens you!” he exclaimed. Everything suddenly became so obvious. “You are terrified, Virginie.”
It was all too much for the young woman; and the tears she’d been holding in for months began to run uncontrollably down her cheeks. Her sorrow was suffocating her and Kalaan rushed to her side to take her in his arms. Caressing her back and rocking her as if she were a small child, he murmured words of reassurance in her ear.
There, in the solid warm cocoon of his arms, Virginie felt safe at last. It was as powerful as the way she felt before, with Catherine at the edge of the cliff; it was a marvelous feeling of invulnerability and it was what she needed more than anything else in that moment.
“I am aware that we hardly know each other, but I think it would be wise to tell me the whole story.”
Virginie shook her head in dissent and took a long deep breath, focusing on the scent of his muscular body against hers. The typically masculine odor, smooth and spicy, the essence of Kalaan… It was so intense and so captivating that she relaxed completely. She felt so happy there, her cheek resting against his shoulder, with his gloved hands stroking her back.
“Virginie! Blast it! Don’t fall asleep! Damn that concoction!” The young woman sighed happily through the potion-induced haze that was clouding her mind.
“Virginie, we must continue our discussion about Borgas!” Kalaan insisted, trying to shake her awake.
“No, no,”she moaned. Her head felt so heavy, she let it fall back away from Kalaan wincing as he shook her. “He… he’ll… hurt… you.”
Jaouen’s potion was so powerful that Virginie was soon fast asleep. Kalaan looked at her, not believing his eyes. After a moment, he simply shrugged his shoulders and carefully lay her down on the bed. He then removed his gloves and wiped away the rest of her tears.
She looked so peaceful and beautiful lying there, asleep. Kalaan couldn’t bring himself to plunge her back into torment. Besides, she was injured and needed to get her strength back. Virginie would tell him the whole story tomorrow, he was confident. And if she didn’t, he would ask Jaouen to concoct a truth potion, preferably without a sedative!
